Love In Different Forms
by Sebastian Mechelis
Summary: Some USUK with a misplaced Russia in the mix, and you have this screwed-up fan fiction. Enjoy;)
1. Chapter 1

America was about to fall asleep. Not even the overdramatic kind, like, he was starting to tip over.

England's droned on in the background, more calming than it should have been.

"...-crack. But as long as we can try to encourage people to drive less and walk more we should be fine. Although ,China, you need to trying a bit harder than you are right now and America…"

After listening for about three seconds, America determined that it was not important and went back to drooling into his hand.

That is, until he felt the room get a few degrees colder. Reluctantly opening his eyes, America glanced across the table at Russia, who was staring at him with violet eyes accompanied with a small smile, one that sent cold shivers down his spine, shivers that America of course suppressed.

He gave a cherry grin of his own, before turning back to the fount of the room.

Oh, America thought, nice view. England's back was to the room, pointing to the board. America paid close attention as England moved, his ass moving with him.

While still fully aware of the purple-eyed nation's stare, he chose to ignore it, instead watching the way England's thighs and hips moved as he walked from one side of the board to the other, pointing to things with a laser light, not that America was paying attention to any of that.

All was at peace, that is, until France, who supposedly had been focused on England's ass-cheeks as well, seemed it would be wise to voice his thoughts.

" Ohohohohoh~ My, my, England. Do you think you may be available tonight? You look to be especially enchanting today~"

"..."

"..."

"..."

No one moved for a solid five seconds, than, at the sound of Germany slamming his head into his palms, the the true reason anyone came to the meetings was revealed.

"FROG!" Screeched England, " Were you listening to anything I said?!" He then proceeded to send an elbow crashing into France's face. Letting the rest of the nations know that is was now the time to both vocally and physically argue.

On the other side of the room, America smirked. Jumping up over the back of his chair and shoving one hand onto the top of the chair as he propelled himself into the conflict between France and England.

If one were to walk into the meeting room at this moment, absolute chaos might be the right word to describe what this scene must have looked like.


	2. Chapter 2

"Y-you damn pervert!", England screeched, caterpillar eyebrows scrunched together in anger, "Get your grubby paws _off_ of me!"

"Hohohoho~ But Angleterre, you can't possibly expect me to keep my hands to myself with your pert little ass practically begging to be spread, now can you?", France replied as he not-so-casually groped England's backside, raising a suggestive brow as he breathed into the Brit's ear.

"Well, as a matter of fact, yes! I do expect you to not have the self control of a starved dog! Were you even-...", England's eyes grew wide as he trailed off, gawking over France's shoulder in mute shock.

France barley had enough time to turn his head around before soft but slightly calloused hands gripped the wrist in England's pants, slightly applying pressure in the bone.

America stood right over the Frenchman's left shoulder, the blue twinkle in his eyes too bright to be anything but controlled rage, closed mouth with soft lips turned up in a creepy, violent smile; you could almost see the vein in America's forehead throb.

Pressure increased as the hand was ripped away from England's waistband, causing France to cry out in pain and fear. America either didn't care that France was about to break into tears or he ignored it, because the next second France found himself flat on the meeting room table, a strong elbow painfully wedged into his back, wrist being twisted almost to the point of breaking it.

America leaned over the wailing nation, elbow sliding closer to the victim's neck, and whispered in a sickly sweet voice to the hollow of France's ear:

"It… might be wise to heed England's advice. For, as I am sure you are well aware, he has already been claimed. Now, I suggest you go find some other unfortunate soul to feast your eyes upon… or we may have a problem of our hands...," after a pause and a tight squeeze, America released France, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder, as if the message had not already been fully received.

As everyone had fallen silent during the "France Incident", which was it's new name as gossip was sure to spread like wildfire, all Germany had to do was give an awkward cough to detect the countries of the world into their respective seats, America pecking a blushing England on the head before the American plopped into his own seat, not even acknowledging the gaze burning a hole in his head.

Ivan seethed in quiet rage. _What a revolting display of affection_ , thought the Russian. Although, deep down, he knew that if America were to do the same to him, he would be the same blushing mess that England was at the moment. Russia glared at the stupid Brit, _he has absolutely no idea of how lucky he is._


End file.
